Part 44 (1/2)

”Hall was telling me a good story on Webb last week,” said Diggs, as he waited for his dessert. ”It was about the time he seconded the nomination of Reed for attorney-general--ever hear it?”

”Fire away!” was Galt's reply, as he leaned back in his chair. The colonel's stories were the platform which had supported him throughout a not unsuccessful social career.

”It was when Webb was a young fellow, you know, just beginning to be heard of as an advocate. He was at his first convention, eager to have his say, hard to keep silent; and he was asked to second the nomination of Reed, a boyish-looking chap of twenty-six. He didn't know Reed from Adam, but he was ambitious to be heard just then--and he'd have spoken for the devil if they'd have given him a chance. Well, he launched out on his speech in fine style. He began with Noah--as they all did in those days--glided down the centuries to Seneca and Caesar, touched upon Adam Smith and Jefferson, and finally landed in the arms of Monroe P.

Reed. There he grew fairly ecstatic over his subject. He spoke of him as 'the lawyer sprung, full-armed, from the head of learning,' as the 'nonpareil Democrat who clove, as Ruth to Naomi, to the immortal principles of Virginia Democracy,' and in a glorious period, he rounded off 'the incomparable services which Monroe P. Reed had rendered the deathless cause of the Confederacy!' In an instant the house came down.

There was a roar of laughter, and somebody in the gallery sang out: 'He was at his mother's breast!'

”For a moment Webb quailed, but his wits never left him. He faced the man in the gallery like Apollo come to judgment, and his fine voice rang to the roof. 'I know it, sir, I know it,' he thundered, 'but Monroe P.

Reed was one of the stoutest breastworks of the Confederacy. I have it from his mother, sir!'

”Of course the house went wild. He was the youngest man on the floor, and they gave him an ovation. Since then, he's learned some things, and he's become the only orator left among us.”

The colonel finished hurriedly as his apple pie was placed before him, and did not speak again during dinner.

”He is an orator,” said Galt. ”He doesn't use much clap-trap business either. I've never heard him drag in the Medes and Persians, and I could count his cla.s.sical quotations on my fingers. Personally, I like Burr's way better--it's saner and it's sounder--but Webb knows how to talk, and he has a voice like a silver bell--Ah, here he is.”

As he spoke there was a stir in the crowd at the doorway and Dudley Webb entered and took the nearest vacant seat.

The first impression of him at this time was one of extreme picturesqueness. A slight tendency to stoutness gave dignity to a figure which, had it been thin, would have been insignificant, and served to accentuate a peculiar grace of curve which prevented his weight from carrying any suggestion of the coming solidity of middle age. His rich, rather oily hair, worn longer than the fas.h.i.+on, fell in affected carelessness across his brow and lent to his candid eyes an expression of intensity and eloquence. His clear-cut nose and the firm, fleshy curve of his prominent chin modified the effect of instability produced by his large and somewhat loosely moulded lips. The salient quality of his personality, as of his appearance, was an ease of proportion almost urbane. His presence in the overcrowded room diffused an infectious affability. Though he spoke to few, he was at once, and irrepressibly, the friend of all. He did not go out of his way to shake a single hand, he confined his conversation, with the old absorption, to the men at his table--personal supporters, for the most part; but there was about him a pacific emanation--an atmosphere at once social and political, which extended to the far end of the room and to men whose names he did not know.

He talked rapidly in a vibrant, low-toned voice, with frequent gestures of his shapely hands. His laugh was easy, full, and inspiriting--the laugh of a man with a vital sense of humour. As Galt watched him, he smiled in unconscious sympathy.

”But for Burr, I think I'd like to see Webb governor,” he said. ”After all, it is something to have a man who looks well in a procession--and he has a charming wife.”

II

The gas light and electric light illuminating the opera house fell with a curious distinction in tone upon the crowd which filled the building and overflowed through darkened doors and windows. Beneath the electric jets the faces were focussed to a white hush of expectancy, which mellowed into a blur of impatient animation where the dim gas flickered against the walls.

Since the birth of Virginia Democracy, the people had not witnessed so generous an outpouring of delegates. In a State where every man is more or less a politician, the convention had a.s.sumed the air of a carnival of males--the restriction of s.e.x limiting it to an expression of but half the population.

The delegations from the congressional districts were marshalled in line upon the floor and stage, their positions denoted by numbered placards on poles, while in the galleries an enthusiastic swarm of visitors gave vent to the opinions of that tribunal which is the public. A straggling fringe of feet, in white socks and low shoes, suspended from the red and gilt railings of the boxes, ill.u.s.trated the peculiar privileges enjoyed in the absence of the feminine atmosphere. From stage to gallery the play of palm-leaf fans produced the effect of a swarm of gigantic insects, and behind them rows of flushed and perspiring faces were turned upon the gentleman who held the floor.

A composite photograph of the faces would have resulted in a type at once alarming and rea.s.suring--alarming to the student of individual endeavour, rea.s.suring to the historian of impersonal issues. It would have presented a countenance that was unerringly Anglo-Saxon, though modified by the conditions of centuries of changes. One would have recognised instinctively the tiller of the soil--the single cla.s.s which has refused concessions to the making of a racial cast of feature. The farmer would have stamped his impress indelibly upon the plate--retaining that enduring aspect which comes from contact with natural forces--that integrity of type which is the sole survival of the Virginian pioneer.

In the general face, the softening influences of society, the relaxing morality of city life would have appeared only as a wrinkle here and there, or as an additional shadow. Beneath the fluctuating expression of political sins and heresies, there would have remained the unaltered features of the steadfast qualities of the race.

The band in a far corner rolled out ”Dixie,” and the ma.s.s heaved momentarily, while a cloud of tobacco smoke rose into the air, scattering into circles before the waving of the palm-leaf fans. Here and there a man stood up to remove his coat or to stretch his hand to the vendor of lemonade. Sometimes the fringe of feet overhanging the boxes waved convulsively as a howl of approbation or derision greeted a fresh arrival or the remarks of a speaker. Again, there would rise a tumultuous call for a party leader or a famous story teller. It was a jovial, unkempt, coatless crowd that spat tobacco juice as recklessly as it applauded a fine sentiment.

As an unwieldy gentleman, in an alpaca coat, made his appearance upon the platform, there was an outburst of emotion from where the tenth delegation was seated. The unwieldy gentleman was the Honourable c.u.mberland Crutchfield, a popular aspirant to the governors.h.i.+p.

When Galt entered the hall, an athletic rhetorician was declaiming an eulogy which had for its theme the graces of his candidate. ”You came too soon,” observed a man seated next a vacant chair, which Galt took.

”You should have escaped this infliction.”

”My dear fellow, I never escaped an infliction in my life,” responded Galt serenely. ”I cut my teeth on them--but here's another,” and he turned an indifferent gaze on the orator, who had risen upon the platform. ”Good Lord, it's Gary!” he groaned. ”Now we're in for it.”

”Mr. Chairman and gentlemen of the convention,” Gary was beginning, ”it is my pleasant duty to second the nomination of the Honourable c.u.mberland Crutchfield of the gallant little county of Botetourt. Before this august body, before this incomparable a.s.semblage of the intellect and learning of the State, my tongue would be securely tied (”I'd like that little job,” grunted the man next to Galt) did not the majesty of my subject loosen it to eloquence. Would that the immortal Cicero (”Now we're in for it,” breathed Galt) in his deathless orations had been inspired by the ill.u.s.trious figure of our fellow-countryman. Gentlemen, in the Honourable c.u.mberland Crutchfield you behold one whose public service is an inspiration, whose private life is a benediction--one who has borne without abuse the grand old t.i.tle of the Caesar of Democracy, and I dare to stand before you and a.s.sert that, had Caesar been a c.u.mberland Crutchfield, there would have been no Brutus. Gentlemen, I present to you in the Honourable c.u.mberland Crutchfield the Vested Virgin of Virginia!”

The chairman's gavel fell with a thud. In the uproar which ensued hats, fans, sticks filled the air. The tenth delegation rose to a man and surged forward, but it was howled down. ”Go it, old man!” sang the boxes, where the fringe of feet was wildly swaying, and ”He's all right!” screeched the galleries. To a man who may be made fun of a Virginia convention can be kind, but in the confusion Gary had sauntered out for a drink.